Fallen: The Death
by hileve
Summary: A teenage Percy, who'd already won the world and lost it, grapples with restrictions, a new family, a love interest, a death wish, a past he'd rather forget and the overwhelming feeling of having died while still alive.
1. Chapter 1

He was five when she'd first seen him walk through that street; the first street he'd ever seen in their world. His first time entering into the world which he'd been taken from so long ago.

He was a young replica of his mother, with his father's night-black hair. He looked quiet, but intelligent. There was a gleam in his eyes that betrayed the otherwise innocent features.

He wasn't innocent; she knew he wasn't. He'd grown up a liar, a thief and a master manipulator. He couldn't be blamed, though. And she knew, the second he reached his destination, he would make himself the best through any means.

She didn't know what his defintion of the 'best' was, though.

Maybe the most intelligent was the best to him. That seemed the most likely. Or perhaps the most social; the popular kid. It didn't matter. She'd watch it all unfold.

Yet, even as she looked at him, at that disguised intelligence and cunning, there was something else. He wasn't innocent, but he was pure. She didn't even know what that meant. But it was there; a sort of purity about him, that drew people in even if his looks didn't do that already.

He still had a long way.

He was six now. His first year hadn't gone by with much change. Apparently, he liked to keep his head down. At least until he was ready. He was an enigma.

There was a more aware edge to him. This time he wasn't looking for trouble. He was looking for trouble-makers. To avoid, to confront, or to befriend she had no idea.

He was still in the very beginning in the way set for him.

She wondered how long it would take.

He was seven, and he definitely hadn't changed that much.

There was one large difference, though.

He was aware of his looks. He smiled up at the passing ladies, at the shopkeepers, at everyone he met. It was an angelic smile. Only a little part of it was true.

She hoped that part grew bigger. She didn't want to see him turn into a tyrant. Too many failures had happened already, she thought as she looked down at the newspaper in her hand, the golden-eyed man an image of perfection on its front page. A perfect dictator.

He was eight now, and he was definitely more confident. He spoke with more random strangers. He made small talks with the shopkeepers. They remembered him, now. The boy with the angelic smile.

It was still there. This time, it was more enchanting. And she knew why. This time it was true. It seemed, his recent meetings had honestly had their effect.

He was shaping up perfectly. Kind, confident, intellignet, beautiful. All he needed was to grow a bit older and a bit more powerful and he would be a rallying point; a leader.

She looked forward to seeing him in a few years.

He was nine. And he wasn't alone.

The girl was black-haired, her eyes the most enchanting shade of blue. They made a perfect image; young, beautiful, happy. She had seen the girl slip when her older siblings weren't looking.

She'd known the girl. The girl wasn't like that. She was quiet and almost detached. But, then again, her young hero had also been the type to avoid friendships and keep his head down.

It seemed they'd both helped bring out the loud parts in each other.

They were running, their laughs echoing loudly. They'd just finished a prank, if she wasn't mistaken. Her eyes settled on the boy once again.

She was shocked. She'd thought that maybe he'd learn how to lead people a few years later. It seemed he'd proved her wrong.

His last year had been nothing short of a mircale. She would've never believed it if she hadn't been there to see it. It seemed she'd underestimated his charms.

From the first year, the whole school had flocked to him. She'd watched as he avoided them. And then he'd met them. And she couldn't decide whether that was the best or worst thing to happen to him.

The three of them used to be quiet, but ever since her young unofficial charge joined them, they'd created a reputation as the biggest trouble-makers in the school.

And even through that reputation, he'd won everyone over; younger and older students, students his age and teachers.

He'd come a long way from that quiet boy. He still had an even longer way, though.

He was still nine, and she couldn't believe it.

It was that time of the year where people bought trees and gifts and sang songs; a muggle tradition which she saw no reason to celebrate. Yet her young charge seemed to have a different view.

He walked down the street, alone, almost swaggering in his step. His mouth was currently somewhere between a smile and a smirk. The gleam in his eyes looking for danger was back. But there was danger this time, an alluring sort of danger that hugged his outer edges and showed itself in that almost manic smile.

People turned to look at him as he walked. Those who knew him wore adoring expressions. Those who didn't wished they did.

But that wasn't the unbelievable part. He'd taken them all by storm. Most of these bypassers who stared didn't know his other identity, but she did. He'd made himself into a legend, something never to be forgotten.

He'd apparently decided capturing the whole school's enamoration wasn't enough. He'd stepped out, fashioned a name for himself, and joined politics.

It was laughable; a nine-year-old joining politics. But he did it. And he was laughed at, in the beginning. And then he made everyone who laughed regret it.

He'd led the largest group of rebels to ever be recorded in the Wizarding World. He'd built them all a safeplace; a sanctuary. And all who served him were welcome to come to it whenever they pleased.

Each of Kronos and Rhea had been doing their best to send spies of their own into his ranks. Yet, somehow, all the spies seemed to die in unfortunate accidents before they had a chance to report. News had it they were all stunned though when they saw him.

She didn't blame them. The German and French were both neutral, meaning they most likely had never been involved with Titans and had never seen a Titan in real life.

Yet when the Dark Lord or the Head of the Order of the Phoenix sent someone, it was most likely that said someone was high enough in the ranks to have met Titans if he was to be trusted with such a mission.

And the boy was a walking replica of his mother.

She watched him as he walked by her, turning his head as if finally feeling her stare after all those years she'd spent spying on him. His eyes met hers; green to black.

Something twitched in his jaw. She wished she knew what he was thinking. His gaze lasted for a few seconds before he turned and kept walking.

She took her time to stare at him, for some reason feeling that this was a goodbye of sorts. She only hoped it was temporary.

He was ten and he was nowhere to be seen. Her instintics hadn't been wrong.

After all that happened the past year, she wasn't surprised. She wished she could still see him, to see if that place had had an effect on him or not. She hoped it didn't.

Last year had brought no fruit. This year, though, was a whole different matter.

He was back. He was there, but he wasn't.

He was under the guise of a new persona, and she was absolutely stunned none of the shopkeepers recognized him. He still wore the same face, just a different name.

The challenge, the danger and the need for trouble were all still there. Yet there was something missing. It seemed he didn't care about grandeur and greatness anymore. Rather if she had to judge, she'd say he was happy to live a normal life.

The purity was tainted. But it was still there. There were glimmers of it. She could still see it.

She knew why it was tainted. The boy had unlocked his full potential, and she wasn't sure whether she was satisfied or miserable. It was tragic, she decided.

And obvious; she could see it in the way he looked at the man behind the counter and easily got a free ice-cream by that look, the way he laughed, that smile that was a bit too flirtatious.

The kindness was nearly gone. His eyes were now mocking, making fun of everything in his head. His smile said it all; _'I'm better.'_

He needed to remember his past. He couldn't forget everything that he once was; everything he was meant to be.

He was trying to reach a book that was too high for him. She entered Flourish and Blotts, seizing her chance. She took the book down and handed it to him.

He was looking sideways like he was trying to keep track of everything around him.

"Thank you," he said in his honey-sweet melody of a voice. His eyes finally met hers and the half-embarassed smile slipped of his face.

She smiled in turn. "Helping an old friend does not deserve thanks."

He turned, readying to bolt, before she placed her hand on his shoulder. He froze in place, unable to move, and she could feel him panicking under the spell.

"Just know that it was done in the hopes of a return of someone who'd abandoned us."

She lifted the spell, and he ran without once looking back.

That was the last time she ever visited him.

She'd delivered her message. Her part was done.


	2. Chapter 2

Percy swung his legs back and forth. His eyes travelled around, catching sight of the busy roads and the people sprawled out across his vision; they were walking, holding shopping bags, talking on cellphones. It almost looked like they were all normal, but as his eyes travelled he caught sight of more than a few faces he personally knew.

He ignored them and started sweeping the vision before him once again, trying to see something distracting, but his eyes kept going back to the angel above the city almost against his will. It was standing high above the city, and it looked beautiful.

Too bad Percy knew next to nothing about it. He didn't know whether it was painted gold, or made of gold. He didn't know what the long pole it stood on was called. He did know that it was sort of a landmark to the city, but he barely knew the city's name; let alone the statue's.

It started with _L,_ maybe. No, not that. Was it the _N?_ No, no, it was the _B. Bel- Ber- Berlin._ That was it. He was in Berlin, capital of Germany. And today was just another day; waking up, roaming the city streets, wondering whether he should hide somewhere else or not.

He shouldn't, really. All the familiar faces in the crowds were there for him. He only called them friends in his mind, though. It was almost hard to believe, but he knew that he'd been loved, once. The dying flickers of memory in his mind proved that.

He decided that that was enough time spent brooding. Maybe he should do a mental check. Was he afraid of sitting on the edge of a 24-story building? No. Was he frustrated with the fact that the people he recognized were as good as following him? No. Was he feeling that usual admiration at seeing something like a golden angel statue? No.

That cleared it. Depression was hitting. Harder and harder everyday. Last week he would've given everything to go on a tour in a Parisian Museum. At the moment he was in, he wanted nothing less.

Maybe the day's events could help him out of it. They hadn't happened yet. But he knew they would.

Percy knew the Moirae and he knew their ways. If you'd been scared of something and you were desperately avoiding thinking about it, the moment you did think about it was the moment they decided you've done enough worrying. So it really came as no surprise to him at all when he sensed that shift in the air.

Power was crackling. He felt it from this far away. His friends sensed it too. No one but him would've been able to tell, but he saw the way each of them gave his or her little sign; cracking a finger, flicking the hair back, yawning, even. Those little signs told him they were worried, but knew not to interfere.

And then he saw him. Turning the corner of a street, he was walking down it, deliberate. He was wearing a suit; the kind that mortals usually wore. Percy felt the depression flickering off slightly, as the surprise that the man had managed to hide himself so well registered.

He waited patiently for the next person to come in behind him. Then he realized there was no next person. He almost felt insulted but depression decided to bear its ugly head once again. He did his best to ignore it.

Turning his head back towards the angel above the city, he plastered a bored expression on his face. He didn't feel bored, of course. He was feeling nothing, as a matter of fact.

His eyes kept on roaming in that bored fashion pretending they didn't see the man's eyes zoom in on him. He noticed his own eyes were brighter than the man's. Not a surprise, really. Although if it was, he wouldn't have felt it.

He decided with that last mental statement that maybe he should try to rouse himself slightly. Just slightly.

He was sitting with his legs dangling off a roof. Anastasio was standing behind him. Not that the boy noticed.

Anastasio came forward, so he was standing an inch behind him. Deciding it was as good a line as any to start a conversation, he cleared his throat, and said "You shouldn't be sitting like that, son."

The boy jumped and for a second, Anastasio was afraid he'd fall of the building. But he seemed able to hold himself up with his hands. The boy turned his head around, staring in surprise at him. Anastasio suddenly realized the boy might not understand him; he did live in Germany after all. But then the boy smiled up at him.

"I know how to catch myself, sir."

There was a German accent accompanying the words. Anastasio noticed that everything about him seemed to convey the fact that the boy was eight or nine, at the most; his voice, his height (from what Anastasio could estimate, since the boy was still sitting), his facial features, the childish smile playing at his lips.

Anastasio loathed that smile.

"You can't be too careful. Maybe you should step away from there."

It wasn't a suggestion. Not really.

Percy's smile turned into something of a smirk. "I don't really feel like it."

As if Anastasio didn't hate him enough. But the answer had its uses, he supposed. It served to remind him that the seemingly-eight-year-old was actually a year and a half short of being a teenager. He seemed to be embracing the personality from now, though.

Smiling and pretending he didn't really mind Percy's rebelliousness, he held out his hand. Percy looked almost lost for a moment before grabbing it and pulling himself up.

And then his eyes snapped open, and reality crashed down, destroying the dream.

Dammit. He'd slept in the subway again. Honestly, he couldn't help himself. If people hanged TV screens up in subways, it wouldn't be so damn hard to stay awake.

He looked at his watch. Still five minutes to the train. Maybe he could get a ticket now and manage to board. But, no, he didn't really feel like it.

It wasn't like he wanted to travel. The real reason was much simpler; he loved trains. Watching as the outside world rolled by, too fast to properly focus on and grab its little details, but slow enough to capture in its main image; his mind would never be clearer.

But right now, he didn't feel like it. He felt like swimming. Or boarding a plane. Maybe even spending money.

There were a lot of places to spend money here. Dubai was one of the best, the most beautiful and the most expensive cities in the world; the perfect place to be when you're running away from the conflicts you caused across a continent.

Unfortunately, there hardly was a place in the world that could take your mind off a dream you just had that was obviously more than a dream.

In the dream, he'd known he was twelve. Right now, he was ten. Hard to believe with the reputation he had, but as far as he was concerned, age couldn't judge him.

He was as tall in the dream as he was now, but he was sure that would change. He remembered back when he was four; he'd been as tall as everyone his age was. When he was five, there was a difference, but you could hardly notice it. It turned into a full inch when he was six, and when he was seven he only grew another inch while most his friends grew two inches, some even three.

He accepted he was shorter than others when he was eight and opted to change that, but that hadn't worked out. Right now, he was ten and shorter than other ten-year-olds by at least five inches. Looking back on it, maybe he wouldn't grow taller in the next two years.

If the confrontation even happened.

Another detail was depression. He knew its symptoms and he could safely say he was nowhere near them at the moment. That could also change in two years.

And, most mysterious of all; Berlin. He wasn't born in that city; German wasn't his native tongue; he hadn't lived the first years of his life there. But he set the path he was walking on there; he met the people who changed his life there; he realized what life was and built his dreams from there.

There was no way in all hells he'd be forgetting its name anytime soon.

The City of Angels, he personally called it. Los Angeles was called the City of Angels, but Percy met his angels in Berlin, not LA. Along with his first BMW.

He was too young to drive, people said. Age wasn't his judge, he replied.

And why would his 'friends' be there? They would never follow him around unless he told them to. So why would he tell them to?

Honestly, he hated dreams. They were the one thing demigods of Olympus and wizards and witches shared. Too bad both species hated it.

For all he knew, the Moirae could just be having a go at him. Either ways, he wasn't in Dubai to worry. Nirvana had said he shouldn't worry. And Nirvana's advice was always right.

Two months ago she told him not to go knocking on trouble's door. He'd told her it wasn't trouble's door he was going knocking on. Now he was a fugitive.

She'd told him he needed a break. So he decided to listen that time. When she'd called him yesterday, she'd asked him if he was ever going to go back and quit his break again; he'd said he didn't know. And until this moment he still didn't.

He was almost certain he'd go back one day. A burned child loves the fire, Oscar Wilde had said in one of his novels; his only novel, actually.

But maybe he was too young to go back into politics; God knew he was young enough when he first started. But as soon as that thought crossed his mind, he banished it.

Age wasn't his judge.

Albus Dumbledore was one of the most respected wizards worldwide. He was kind and benevolent to everyone, but that didn't mean he had no enemies. He just made sure to show the world he had none.

All except one; the Dark Lord. But then he'd be hated if he didn't stand against him. Not to mention, he always felt it was his duty.

But there were instants where you had to have enemies. Like the moment he was currently in.

It was nearly the start of the school year; and Hogwarts was sending its acceptance letters and book lists.

Children born into wizarding families had absolutely no trouble; but those who knew nothing about magic were a different case.

Usually a teacher would be sent to explain. But they only had so many teachers. So a schedule was in need. But some of the more worried parents simply couldn't wait; and so they decide to come to Hogwarts to demand answers.

Professor McGonagall had come a few minutes ago to inform him of the visit, and he'd told her to bring them in.

The Atkinsons had entered his office, staring bewilderedly at the magical devices strewn around the room.

He'd welcomed them, asked them to sit down, introduced himself and asked their names, offered them refreshment and did all the things one would consider only polite when faced by guests.

And as he was about to start explaining what Hogwarts was and what the magical world in general was, a green fire erupted in his ancient oak fireplace, and a man with platinum blond hair stepped out.

Lucius Malfoy; one of the Dark Lord's most loyal and dangerous servants. Lord of one of the richest families in the world, and with a political standing that was so high among the ladder he should've been made Minister to boot, he was an epitome of power.

"Ah, Dumbledore, you have guests."

His silver eyes judgmentally travelled around the room, pausing finally to consider the guests as if they weren't worth his attention. His silky voice was quiet, but there was a hint of danger in it that made it heard by all.

The moving portraits in the Headmaster's office awakened from their fake sleep at hearing that voice. The red and gold bird raised its head, as if daring the Malfoy Lord to do anything that may be considered in the least, offensive.

Lucius didn't bat an eyelash.

"I can't believe that this is how far the Wizarding World's savior is willing to go; just to make certain his benevolent image stays intact."

"I have no idea what you are speaking about, Lucius," Dumbledore said with a kind smile on his face that suggested he was nothing but an old man who couldn't understand passive-aggressiveness anymore. His voice, though, held a tone that told the Malfoy Lord not to continue.

As was only natural for a Death Eater, Lucius did the exact thing Dumbledore was wordlessly warning him against. "Inviting such filth into your office is only the start, I hear. There was something about a plan of yours I heard the other day; one that involved inviting certain _people_ into our world; people that are better off never knowing about us."

So his plans reached the ears of Kronos. Nothing more than what he'd expected. Now wasn't the time to discuss such matters with Lucius though, as his guests were visibly angered by Malfoy's words concerning them. "I'm certain we can continue this discussion later, Lucius."

It was as good as a confirmation to Lucius' words; and Lucius wanted nothing more. "Of course, Dumbledore. If you will excuse me, I will be taking my leave."

He didn't wait for Dumbledore's permission to leave, giving the aged Headmaster a look that said he wouldn't be coming back to _continue this discussion_.

The fire flared green as the Malfoy Lord left, and Dumbledore turned back to his guests.

"Who was that man?" Mrs. Atkinson instantly asked. She was blond, though her hair was a golden shade, unlike Lucius' platinum one.

"Nothing to worry about, my dear friend," Dumbledore said jovially, as if he didn't just have a battle of non-spoken words with Malfoy.

The woman seemed to be less assured, rather than more, though. Thus, Dumbledore decided to continue quickly. Muggles were always harder to deal with than wizards, if only for the fact that they usually didn't know anything about his reputation, and sometimes, didn't care.

"Mr. Dumbledore, was it?" Mr. Atkinson said uncertainly.

"Professor, my dear friend," Dumbledore nodded, his kind smile widening.

The man seemed to be as unsure of the endearing name as his wife.

"Well, professor, yesterday, we received a letter that our son, Jacob, was accepted at a magic school," here, he shared a skeptical look with his wife, "and the address on the letter said this was the place."

"Ah, yes, that is true," Dumbledore said, wounding his fingers together below his chin. "Hogwarts is the first magic school to exist, and has been the best school for millennia."

"Magic school?" Mrs. Atkinson repeated with a disbelieving note, matching the look in her husband's eyes. "I'm sorry, Professor Dumbledore, but I'm not sure what you're speaking about."

Muggles, ever so disbelieving. "Magic _does_ exist, Mrs. Atkinson. I think Mr. Malfoy's means of entrance and exit a few minutes ago proves that. And your son, Jacob, has magic within him"

For some reason, these two seemed to be easier to convince than any other pair of Muggles he'd met, if Mr. Atkinson's question was anything to go by. "You mean he's a wizard? Like in fairytales?"

"I'm afraid I do not know what you mean by fairytales, Mr. Atkinson," Dumbledore replied, "But I can guarantee you that yes, he is a wizard. To put it in the simplest form, he has a type of power within him that few possess, and with proper training, that power will evolve, and he will have absolute control over it."

"And your school can give that training?" Mrs. Atkinson asked.

"Why, yes, my dear lady. Hogwarts has been the best magic school in nearly seven thousand years, maybe even mo-"

"I'm sorry, Professor Dumbledore," Mrs. Atkinson interrupted, a hint of impatience in her voice, "but to be perfectly honest, I'm more interested in what education and training your school can offer _now_ , rather than what it had to offer seven thousand years ago."

Dumbledore paused. Few people ever contradicted him and turned out to be right. But, he realized, he couldn't argue with Mrs. Atkinson's point. She was only a mother who was worried for her son's education. And he had to give her the right sort of assurance.

"Mrs. Atkinson, I assure you, our school considers the education of young wizards and witches of the utmost importance. We offer our students extensive Ministry-approved courses about various subjects, which include Transfiguration, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Art, Potions-"

"What about the core subjects?" Mrs. Atkinson interrupted once again.

Dumbledore looked confused for a half-moment before replying. "Mrs. Atkinson, the subjects I have just mentioned _are_ the core subjects."

"I'm sorry?" she said, her tone displeased. "What about English? Maths? Science?"

Dumbledore wondered how to answer. The subjects they didn't teach seemed to be the most important subjects in her agenda, while the ones they did seemed to be of minor importance, if any.

Dumbledore went over the details. A Muggle woman who seemed to care diligently for her son's education, who unfortunately witnessed the attitude of one of the Wizarding World's most despised personalities, who knew next to nothing about the world her son was going into, and disapproved of the courses offered at their school.

The chances that Jacob Atkinson would go to Hogwarts were very low.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Atkinson, but we don't teach the subjects you mentioned. The only Muggle subject we teach is Astronomy, and most of the syllabus is different than what the Muggle curriculum holds."

Mrs. Atkinson's mouth thinned, and she shared a look with Mr. Atkinson; that was all Dumbledore needed to know that they had decided against their school.

The parents refused to enroll their son into Hogwarts, as, they said, it couldn't give him the right sort of education and they didn't feel it was safe for him to be alone and so far away from their home in Canada for ten months.

Dumbledore tried his best to argue, but the Atkinsons seemed adamant about their decision. No matter which way he tried to convince them, they refused.

Having finally given up, he tried a Compulsion Charm. Few would understand why it was so important to him to have a single Muggle-born student enroll into Hogwarts, but with the low number of their army, their chances against Kronos were almost nonexistent. And Dumbledore had already planned in his mind that he would use his position and the teachers' influence to recruit their students into the army.

He would've never expected, in all his years, that the two Muggles would walk away unharmed from the Compulsion Charm, and as adamant about their position as ever.

But it wasn't the only shock, he realized. Later that day, when he looked over the list of the First Year students for that year, he realized that there was no enrolling wizard by the name of Jacob Atkinson.

When he looked back on the situation, he supposed he should've realized from the way neither of the Muggles made any sign of astonishment when Lucius Malfoy walked in through a green flaring fire, how quick they were to be convinced and to leave his office, and how against him the woman seemed to be from the very beginning that they were spies.

He could see it now; the Dark Lord's spy had come to have his information confirmed, while the other two came for the exact same reason, except all through the meeting they hadn't let on their real purpose, opting to only leave clues that Dumbledore would gather at the end of the meeting.

He knew who worked that way; and it didn't please him any that he also knew the mastermind behind the plan only left the clues he did just so Dumbledore could work it out and lament the fact that he'd been fooled; or the fact that the ultimate safety of the most renowned magic school in the world was broken with next to no effort.

The last one only added to the long list of impossible achievements the mastermind had.

Percy was as moody as ever, changing positions on the sofa every few seconds. He finally decided on having his head dangling upside down from where the legs usually would be, while his legs were dangling from the top of the sofa.

He placed his Starbucks Hot Chocolate on the floor beside his head, pulled a straw from his pocket, stuck it in the hot chocolate after opening it and started drinking, at the same whipping out his iPhone and blaring on Lady Gaga's _Poker Face_.

"God, two months in that place did nothing to change you."

Percy slightly jumped, choking at his hot chocolate. He'd gone a far way, she thought. Since when could people sneak up on him?

The way his face lit up when he saw her was worth more than any other thing in the world, to her.

"I can't stay long." She hated to say it, but she had to.

He couldn't speak to her. If he did, they would be found. But he let her know by his expression that he understood.

"I'm just here to tell you, that you need to put Arcadia under lock-down. It's not safe with the way things are."

He nodded, looking like doing so pained him. She doubted it was because his head was still upside down.

She turned and left, giving no goodbye. He'd understand, she knew. She couldn't stay long, lest they'd be found.

It would only be a couple of months, at the most. After that, everything would go back to how it once was.

She didn't realize she was wrong in assuming what she did. It would be years before she even caught a glimpse of that face again. And things would never go back to the way they once were.


End file.
